Loving the house of the Lord

 Lord, I love the house where you live,
the place where your glory dwells.  Psalm 26:8

That verse warmed me the other morning as I read it, curled up in my chair by the window. Then I asked myself where, exactly, is the Lord’s house. Surely it’s a metaphor for something other than a building. What?

As I thought about it, I realized that the phrase appears numerous times in the Scripture, with various meanings. It’s hard to pinpoint a location or describe its architecture. In one sense, God inhabits the whole earth and the expanse of the heavens. On the other hand, God’s house is used to refer to places where his people gather, be that tabernacle, temple, or local meeting house. “Let us go to the house of the Lord,” is a familiar call to get up on Sunday mornings and go to church.

It then occurred to me that, in a more intimate sense, my body is the house of the Lord. Paul calls it “the temple of the Holy Spirit.” My physical body. Now that thought intrigues me, because my body is no longer young and full of energetic promise. Is it still God’s house, the place where his glory dwells? Am I to love it as such?

Here’s the poem:

Loving the House of the Lord
Lord, I love the house where you live,
the place where your glory dwells.  Psalm 26:8

The Lord owns everything.
He is landlord of the earth.
He inhabits the Sahara Desert,
the Amazon rainforests.
He’s the original man-on-the-moon.
His glory shines scatter-shot
among the stars.
I’m awestruck, but it’s hard
to wrap my emotions around it all
on a regular basis.
My affections are limited.

He is Lord of the places
where his people gather
to sing, learn, eat
and sometimes squabble.
His houses have steeples, altars
and doors that open. And close.
I confess that sometimes
I don’t want to go
to the particular house of the Lord
just down the street.
How can I pretend to love it?

I’m told that my body
is God’s temple.
That if I abide in him
and he abides in me,
glorious possibilities
present themselves.
Come into my heart, Lord Jesus,
I sang as a child. And he did.
Somehow God found enough space
to make himself at home.

And I’m to love his house,
my body. My aging body.
Wrinkles, sags, neuropathy and all.
I’m to love my flesh, my spirit,
my mind, my emotions—
all of which are in some state
of rebellion. Spirit willing, flesh weak
on a daily basis.

Rather than fight it,
I’m to love it.
Treat it with affection.
Drink lots of water,
sleep long and well,
exercise, eat vegetables,
play outside, hug a tree,
hug myself. Laugh out loud.
Say Thank you more often.
Smile when I look in the mirror.
Tell myself, This is where God dwells.

Teach me how, Lord.
And let the glory descend.

Lord, I love the house where you live,
the place where your glory dwells.  Psalm 26:8

Journey through time—faith, hope, love

 As a child I memorized 1 Corinthians 13, the great love chapter. Then in high school and college I studied it as literature. “Now there abides faith, hope and love, these three, but the greatest of these is love.”

I’ve always been a wonderer.  I wondered what the difference was between faith and hope. And what made love greater. And how to measure how much of each I might have. I still don’t have it all worked out, but I’ve gained some insight.

I’m learning to see faith, hope, and love as companions on a journey through time. A sort of spiritual time capsule. And these days I’m trying to understand them through the lens of aging.

Faith—a look to the past. Hope—a perspective on the future. Love—to be lived out here and now.

Faith: I see faith as focused on the past and on all the ways God has shown his faithfulness. Certainly, in my own life, I remember God bringing me through dark times into spacious places, walking with me through dim valleys on twisting paths, but keeping me safe. And I see God doing that through the Scriptures—to his people and to individuals such as Moses, David, and the Apostles of the New Testament. We have a testimony about God’s lovingkindness and faithfulness through the years. Our understanding of who God is and how he treats us gives us faith for facing our trials today.

A backward look of faith can actually heal our past. Here’s an example. In kindergarten I was bullied by two huge first-graders. It happened on the brief walk to and from school, which my parents taught me to do on my own. These two girls made fun of me and threatened me. One afternoon they jumped out from behind a tree, brandished sticks like weapons, and chased me to the corner. I ran home in a panic, but dared not tell my parents. They had told me what would happen if I ever said anything about it.

The memory stayed with me, dragging that feeling of panic into the present whenever I thought of it or saw people walking toward me on the sidewalk. That changed when I learned about using my imagination to walk with Jesus into that memory and see him there with me, protecting me, talking with me, and bringing me safely home. It was actually an exercise in reality as Jesus really was with me. But now I could see him, and the fear left. Faith in Jesus’ presence healed that part of my past.

Our memories seem to play an increasing role as we age. How good to be able to reach back in time and touch them with imaginative faith.

Hope: Hope looks to the future. It is fed by faith in all God has done for us in the past and in the scriptural stories of God’s dealings with his people. It senses that, as he has been in the past, so will he be in all our tomorrows. As the psalmist says, “His lovingkindness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever” (Psalm 23).

The fears natural to the aging process call out for hope. The fear of dementia is perhaps the greatest. A poll taken in 2012 indicates that Alzheimer’s is the disease American’s most fear, edging out even cancer (November 11, 2012, Marist Poll). Anti-ageism activist Ashton Applewhite (that’s a lot of As) says that “Our ageist society pathologizes natural transitions, and our consumer society sells us remedies to ‘fix’ them, like hormone replacement therapy, erectile dysfunction drugs, and facelifts. Our ‘hypercognitive’ culture prioritizes brain function above all ….” All the information in our context bombards us, telling us our fears are valid.

Other natural concerns include loss, potential loneliness, alienation from society, and wondering which body part will give out next. We absolutely need hope. A hope that gives us a new perspective on aging that comes from faith in who God is and how he works in our lives. “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future’” (Jeremiah 29:11). That promise was made to the people of Israel, but I believe it shows the nature of God and can be applied to us, even as we age. Ultimately that hope reaches to a time when we will “dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

Love: Love is primarily a present tense verb. For the here and now. Among the actual people we live with, worship with, and meet in the street. As faith moves forward in time to effect today and hope circles back to encourage us now, we become free to love. Love is an outward focus.

I’m thinking first of my husband. Neither of us are as “beautiful” as we used to, nor as energetic. We’ve grown used to each other. Yet I find, thanks be to God, that this is my easiest love-assignment. More now than when we were young. Just as I find it natural to love my grown kids, grandkids, and the greats.

It’s all the others I need help with. I’m thinking of the cranky lady who lives down the hall and always has something to complain about. I need help to listen with patience and try to see her as God sees her. I need help being kind to the grocery store clerk who’s had a hard day and treats me as a typical tiresome “old lady.” I need help respecting the doctor who tells me there’s nothing wrong; “It’s typical with people your age.” I need help loving certain political leaders in our country. I need help even praying for those I see as oppressing immigrants and minorities.

I need to more frequently sit in the presence of God and let faith and hope stir up love.

Faith and hope help me to love my aging self. I’m learning to look in the mirror and see white hair, wrinkles, and sagging muscles, then say, “Wow! What’s not to love?” I’ve learned an audacious prayer that goes, “Lord, help me accept the truth about myself, now matter how beautiful it is.”

The more I grow in my relationship with God, the more I can lean into the Great Commandment to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. And the second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:37-39).

This is timeless. It doesn’t matter what age we are.

Faith, hope, love—but the greatest of these is love.

What little children teach us about love

 We older people are supposed to be the ones with wisdom that we then pass down to younger generations. In many cases, that’s true, although being old doesn’t automatically bring wisdom in its wake.

Sometimes we forget that wisdom often comes from young people, even children. Wise old people know this. They know when to speak and when to listen. They know how to listen to children.

Recently my sister Becky sent me a list from a Facebook site called something like “Heart-warming.” I don’t often gravitate toward heart-warming stuff, like Hallmark greeting cards, but I trust my sister’s good taste. So I read it, liked it a lot, and will now pass it on to you.

A group of professional people posed an interesting question to children between the ages of four and eight. (The survey didn’t say what profession these professionals represented; they could have been plumbers or bee-keepers; they were probably some kind of social scientists. This information is important, but I’ll forward the results to you anyway.) The question was, “What does love mean?” Here are some of the answers:

 

"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore.... So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.” Rebecca—age 8

“When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.” Billy—age 4

“Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.” Karl—age 5

“Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.” Chrissy—age 6

“Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.” Terri—age 4

“Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.” Danny—age 8

“Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and just listen.” Bobby—age 7 (Wow!)

“If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate.” Nikka—age 6 (We need a few million more Nikkas on this planet.)

“Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it every day.” Noelle—age 7

“Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.” Tommy—age 6

“During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore.” Cindy—age 8

“My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.” Clare—age 6

“Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.” Elaine—age 5

“Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.” Chris—age 7

“Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.” Mary Ann—age 4

“I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.” Lauren—age 4

“When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.” (What an image!) Karen—age 7

“Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross.” Mark—age 6

“You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.” Jessica—age 8

And the final one: The winner was a four-year-old child whose next-door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there. When his mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, “Nothing, I just helped him cry.”

 

See what I mean about wise children? I notice that their definitions were all concrete—actions, demonstrations of love. Nothing abstract. There’s wisdom in that.

Sometime this week, if you can, have a conversation with a child you know. Listen more than you speak. Then do it every week.

Here are some photos of grandparents hanging out some wise little kids:

Will you be my (elderly) valentine?

 It’s Valentines Day in the retirement community, and love is in the air!

It’s also on our doors. The Community Life department has instituted what appears to be an annual Valentines Day contest. Several weeks ago, we all received a red piece of paper with a large heart on it. Our instructions were to decorate it in any way we wanted and to put in on our door. This is a contest, we were told, with prizes (or not—I don’t remember that part). Some good American competition to spur us along!

Actually, only some residents get excited about this artistic challenge. A good number think it’s silly and ignore the whole thing. The neighborhood I belong to is one of the enthusiastic floors, meaning about a third of the rooms have valentine art up on their doors. I am ambivalent; I think it’s sort of silly, but I’ve done it anyway. Entered the contest. After I, I don’t want to be a wet blanket. Not in this cold weather.

I’ve enjoyed walking through the different neighborhoods and seeing the artwork. A common theme is wedding photos, black and white, of course, as most of us couples got married a very long time ago. Many widows and a few widowers also decorate wedding photos in honor of the one they lost. A lot of the artwork is spiritual with pictures of Jesus or verses of Scripture. And some of the door-art is downright funny, in full disrespect of the deep purposes of Valentines Day. These are my favorites.

Here is a sampling, taken from last year and this year:

 

I drew a somewhat misshapen heart (not being a fan of symmetrical) and put a quirky love poem (not being a fan of Hallmark) in the middle.

A Sort Of Love Poem

When I say

thus and such

and you respond with

such and that

I almost begin to realize

that you didn’t at all understand

my this and there

thinking it instead to be

otherwise

and then I correcting spout

how as what

but you come back with

why and wherefore

and I meaning to point out

because furthermore and

therefore….

Oh, forget it!

Come kiss me.

I’ll probably not win the prize.

In a more serious tone, one of my favorite poems on love between a couple who have been married a long time is by Wendell Berry. It gives tribute to the value of a seasoned love where friendship has grown and the couple continue to enjoy their life together. There are couples like that in this community and I’m thankful for them.

The Wild Rose

Sometimes hidden from me
in daily custom and in trust,
so that I live by you unaware
as by the beating of my heart,

suddenly you flare in my sight,
a wild rose blooming at the edge
of thicket, grace and light
where yesterday was only shade,

and once more I am blessed, choosing
again what I chose before.

When it’s all said and done, I have to admit that there's lots of love in this old growth forest.